


The One Where T’Challa Panics

by Winteriscomingforsteve



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everett comforts T’Challa, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, T’Challa has a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:24:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winteriscomingforsteve/pseuds/Winteriscomingforsteve
Summary: T’Challa has a panic attack; Everett knows what to do.





	The One Where T’Challa Panics

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here is another h/c fic that I’ve had on my plate for a little while. I did a fair amount of research on panic attacks for this work, but please do let me know if I have any inaccuracies. Thank you in advance for reading!

Everett just nearly slapped his alarm off before someone at the large doors to his room was demanding his attention with abrupt and loud knocks. It was just nearly seven in the morning and Everett was still exhausted from the previous evening’s... activities. Forcing himself into the chilling morning air of his and T’Challa’s bedroom, Everett climbed out of bed and pulled on his pants, a long pair of trousers, and T’Challa’s undershirt found crumpled by the chair. He walked slowly to the heavy wooden shape of the doors and opened one just a crack to where the lock would let him.

“Hello?” Everett asked groggily through the crack of the door and Shuri appeared in his still blurred vision. After rubbing his eyes with a fist, Everett was able to observe the expression of exasperation and worried painted across Shuri’s normally carefree features. He unfastened the lock and opened the door wider.

“You need to come. Now.” Everett was confused, but his heartbeat sped brutally at the dead seriousness of Shuri’s tone.

“What — what’s wrong Shuri?” Everett was already starting out the door, leaving behind all his usual possessions of considerable importance.

“My brother is panicking. It was faster for me to run here and retrieve you. I don’t know what to do.” It was only then when Everett realized she was breathing hard and her face was full of a much milder look of panic. She was obviously highly concerned.

“Where is he?” Everett asked briskly and began to jog down the long hall of the Royal quarters.

“It happened in the Throne room. I cleared everyone out including Mother. They do not know or understand.” Shuri’s words were solemn. Everett and Shuri were two of the only four people (also including Okoye and Nakia) who T’Challa entrusted with his secret and his weakness. In the weeks following his father’s death, the arrival and death of Killmonger, and the injury of Everett, T’Challa had been in a withdrawn state, not quite himself. Everett and Shuri had been his source of encouragement and and reassurance, but T’Challa had struggled with painful flashbacks and amounting terror. He hadn’t experienced a panic attack in some months.

“Fuck.” This was not good for T’Challa. He had kept this from his fellow leaders and his own _mother_ to protect his pride. All of that was shattered now. Everett felt pain for T’Challa.

Shuri ran ahead of Everett, the man was not as fit as he had been when he was younger. Still, he pressed on with speed. He did not want T’Challa to suffer alone for any longer.

The long hallways and curves were familiar and Everett soared through them until he and Shuri successfully had reached the large entrance doors to the Throne room. Scattered about by the doors were the very concerned Tribe leaders, their faces as worried as Shuri’s. The Queen rose immediately from where she was seated and was being comforted by a stoic Okoye.

“What is wrong with my son?” Ramonda demanded, her eyes looking frantically between Shuri and Everett. Okoye suddenly stood next to her and grasped her arm lightly.

“You must sit, My Queen. T’Challa will inform you at a later time.” Okoye’s words were kind and gentle and she gestured the Queen back to where she had been sitting. Okoye herself grasped both Everett and Shuri and pulled them aside from the rest of the leaders.

“It was mention of the Killmonger ceremonial combat. It was not intentional.” Everett’s heart sunk. He knew some of the things that triggered T’Challa’s panic attacks, one of which was the mention of T’Challa’s apparent defeat in the ritual combat against his very own cousin. The flashbacks often took the King back to that dire and unforgettable moment of true defeat and his encounter with death.

“Fuck.” Everett found himself saying that more often than not recently.

“I don’t recall who mentioned it or why it was brought up in the first place, but you must go now Everett, he needs you.” Okoye pushed him forcefully toward the towering corridors and the man willingly pulled the handle without a second thought.

Everett closed the doors behind him, hoping to secure privacy and preserve some of T’Challa’s dignity. Upon turning around, the image he was met with was even more disconcerting than he had imagined.

T’Challa sat slumped against the the base of his throne, his legs pulled up tightly against his chest. His hands were tugging without success at the high collar of his royal robe. His face was dripping with tears as they ran down his cheeks and and his breath came quickly with small wheezes.

“T’Challa.” Was all Everett could muster in a soft whisper. He approached the throne slowly, trying not to further scare his suffering partner.

“T’Challa.” Everett repeated as he knelt down in front of the man. “It is me, love. It is Everett.” T’Challa spent a minute more with his watery eyes downcast before suddenly they flicked up. T’Challa’s breathing rate picked up and Everett observed as he clutched at his chest with two shaky hands.

“Hey, hey.” Everett’s hands hovered, “Can I touch you. I want to help.” Everett waited a few seconds, eyes locked with T’Challa’s own. The small tilt of his head was Everett’s queue. Everett let his hands gently caress the bearded sides of T’Challa’s face for an instant before peeling T’Challa’s prying fingers from his collar. With sure hands, Everett unbuttoned the garment down to his mid-chest. His hands quickly returned to T’Challa’s cheeks.

“You are safe T’Challa. I am right here, I’m not going to leave you.” The words were breathy and whispered as Everett kept his voice purposefully soft. T’Challa offered another very slight nod. “I’m going to sit behind you. Just like usual, alright?” The response was a wheezing sob from T’Challa.

Everett pulled his hands from where they rested on T’Challa’s cheeks and stood quickly. “Sit up a bit.” Everett said quietly and went around the side so he could lower himself behind T’Challa’s now shaking form. A slight struggle proved victorious when he was able to sit with his back to the throne and T’Challa’s back resting against Everett’s chest.

In this position Everett could feel every tremor, shiver, and shake that ran through T’Challa’s muscles and terrorized his body. He brought a hand up to press his fingers underneath T’Challa’s chin. His pulse was racing and the close proximity allowed Everett to hear T’Challa’s hyperventilating as it grew quicker by the second. “T’Challa, you need to breath. Let’s count, okay? You know the drill.” They had done this before several times.

“One, two, three. Breath in.” Everett counted and tilted T’Challa’s head back to lean on his shoulder. “Hold it.” Everett placed a hand on his chest and felt the man breath.

“One, two, three. Breath out.” The tears still streamed down T’Challa’s face as he exhaled with an echoing hiccup. “That’s it just like that, T’Challa. You are doing great.” Everett encouraged T’Challa softly and used a thumb to wipe the excess tears where they glistened under T’Challa’s eyes.

Everett repeated this breathing excercise several times with T’Challa rested against the crook of his neck. It seemed like it was taking much longer than usual for T’Challa to start to calm. Everett knew it was a result of T’Challa panicking right in front of a group of people who trusted him as a strong leader.

“I’m right here. Just you and me T’Challa.” Everett reminded him. The opinions and listening ears of the others could be discounted. T’Challa’s breathing was steadily becoming slower and Everett sighed out his own breath of relief. _Thank Bast. Thank every God_.

Moments passed in mostly silence, save for the shallow breaths emerging from T’Challa’s chapped lips and presumably dry mouth. Everett used his hands to affirm T’Challa’s surroundings to him. A soft hand rubbing firmly over T’Challa’s stomach, a hand intertwining with T’Challa’s tense and trembling fingers. Everett empathized immensly with T’Challa during these times. He himself had experienced his fair share of panic and distress in his pusuits as a CIA agent. However, he could only imagine the pain T’Challa must feel after losing his father and experiencing a near encounter with his own demise all within a week. Everett winced at the thought and decided he would ask T’Challa tomorrow about it. It was always better to wait until T’Challa’s mind had sufficient time to calm.

Everett knew that as T’Challa slowly was approaching a somewhat manageable state of terror he would want to leave the Throne room, and rightfully so. Unfortunately, Everett had forgotten to grab both his Kimoyo beads and his phone that he could have used to urge Shuri to remove the tribal leaders out of sight of the door.

“T’Challa, let’s go to your quarters. Maybe some food and some sleep. Does that sound alright?” Everett tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible and allowed T’Challa a choice.

“Y-Yes.” T’Challa hiccuped out his answer and rubbed slowly at his eyes with closed fists.

“Okay. Good. I need to alert Shuri, T’Challa. I’ll be just a second.” Everett pushed himself vertical using the edge of the throne. T’Challa let out a mewl of dissapointment as Everett stood and looked up, new tears shining over the ones that were already absorbed into the flesh of his cheeks. Everett propped T’Challa’s back up against the throne and crouched down between his legs. “Hey,” He caressed the side of T’Challa’s face with a calloused thumb, “I’m not leaving. I’m going right to the door and I’ll come right back when I’m finished, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Everett moved swiftly to the corridors and opened the right one just a crack. As expected, the entirety of the tribal leaders and Ramonda herself stared back at him expectantly, waiting for a word on the King.

Shuri suddenly emerged from the group of muttering adults and approached Everett at the door.

“Can you clear them out? I want to take him back to his quarters.” Everett requested.

“Of course. Give me a couple minutes.” Shuri nodded in affirmation and started toward the herd of interested people with intensity in her step.

.

The slow walk to T’Challa’s quarters was distictly void of prying eyes and the usual observance of guards (save for Okoye who led the way without a word). Everett found it both unsettling and relieving all at the same time. T’Challa was lead by Everett’s gentle hand which was pressed against the small of his back. Everett hoped that the touch would be a stable reminder of his care.

Okoye let Everett and T’Challa into the Royal quarters before catching Everett’s eyes with a nod and closing the door.

Everett led a cooperative T’Challa to the sofa and let the man slump into the cushions with closed eyes. Without a word, Everett prepared some sliced and peeled oranges in the kitchenette and brewed a pot of T’Challa’s favorite Wakandan tea.

“T’Challa, darling, you need to sit up and eat.” Everett took a seat so T’Challa’s thigh was pressed against his own. T’Challa sat up groggily from where he had been dozing against the cushions.

Everett watched him eat; mechanical motion after mechanical motion bringing the food to his lips. Everett’s chest twinged nastily. He hated watching T’Challa in this state and it was all he could do to not try and push T’Challa to explain his feelings. Everett held back his every desire to ask T’Challa the questions on the very tip of his tongue. It could wait until the next day.

Once Everett was sure T’Challa was his done with his food, he took the King by his hand and led him to their bedchamber. The room was already dim and Everett happily deposited T’Challa’s limp form onto his side of the large mattress. He went about lighting several candles and opening the windows as T’Challa clumsily shucked his robe. Everett snatched his Kimoyo beads, wallet, and phone from the dresser and tended to T’Challa’s side. He wanted to leave T’Challa alone if that’s what he wanted. He knew sometimes the King needed space after one of his “episodes.”

“Sleep, T’Challa.” Everett commanded, a hand skimming a sharp collarbone.

“I will.” T’Challa’s voice was breathy and scratchy. The tear stains were still absorbing on his cheeks. “Can you stay?” T’Challa’s voice was small and utterly endearing, as were his softened eyes and pleading lips.

“Of course.” Everett dropped his things and shed his shirt, not hesitating for a second. He climbed into the bed and moved so his chest was flush with T’Challa’s side. They laid in this position for several minutes listening to the sound of their own breathing.

“Thank you, Everett, my love.” The words came with tears in T’Challa’s eyes which were pitched toward the artwork on the ceiling. “I don’t deserve someone like you.”

Everett took a moment to ponder his partner’s tearful words.

“T’Challa,” Everett intertwined their fingers, “No, you deserve love and you deserve me. You are not unworthy, you are never a burden to me. I am here because I _want_ to be.”

T’Challa, Everett could tell, possessed no more words to say, but offered up a gentle squeeze of his hand.

_I love you_.

The rest of the worried people could wait until tomorrow to learn about their King.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading and I certainly hope you enjoyed it! I am leaving this on complete for now, however depending on the reception and how I am feeling I may choose to write a second part. Again, do let me know about any mistakes! Thank y’all!
> 
> \- Jay


End file.
